Alongside
by Waveforms
Summary: Can Hermione and Harry survive after Ron's untimely departure, with hope in the fight against Voldemort dwindling?  Rated M for my health.  Just kidding!  Rated M for good reason.  Harry/Hermione.  Oneshot.


Author's Note: I usually do rare pairs, but this one was on my mind and I had to get it off somehow. Pleasant reading.

(Extra tidbit: I didn't rate this M just for fun.)

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><p>The days stretched on interminably.<p>

The nights were, somehow, longer.

Ron's departure had taken a toll on Harry's morale in a way that couldn't be imagined. They were brothers, a concept which Harry had not experienced until he arrived at Hogwarts. There had been temporary estrangements between him and Ron, but now, when Harry needed most the support of his friends, the estrangement looked permanent. The chances of defeating Voldemort looked bleaker than ever, with the army being himself, a morose Hermione and a dead old man. Love was supposed to be the one thing Voldemort could not comprehend, but there was a distinct lack of it in the tent.

Not that he didn't love Hermione. But it was hard to focus on the things he _did_ have when there were so many things he _didn't_ have.

He mulled this over as he sat in front of the tent on guard duty. If there had anything else to think about, he would have thought about it. But there wasn't. Even without the locket, his brain seemed to be running on only one track; the track of despair. At this moment he did not envy the locket-bearing Hermione, who was undoubtedly stewing in gloom while trying to wring some shred of meaning from that book of fairy tales. Soon it would be his turn to wear that damnable locket, and his foul mood would only intensify.

An hour later, Harry reentered the tent to find Hermione sitting at their little table, resting her head in the crook of her arm. There was an untouched cup of tea in front of her. Harry thought she might be asleep, but then her shoulders shook in an unmistakable gesture of crying. This was the first time that Hermione hadn't attempted to hide her tears from him. Harry had pretended to ignore the sobs coming from her bed at night and the tear-tracks marking her face when she came in from standing watch, but there was no ignoring it now. Hermione clearly didn't care that she was weeping in front of him; things were bad enough that there was no point disguising the misery anymore.

Ever since Cho (in that alternate lifetime where girl problems were a legitimate issue, one worth giving thought towards), Harry had been wary of the crying female. But Hermione needed the comfort, maybe even worse than he did. So he walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. With the other hand he gently removed the locket from around her neck. He couldn't bring himself to wear it, not when he was already so low, so he set it down on the table.

Hermione sat up. "S-somebody needs to wear the locket, " she said sniffily, her sadness doing nothing to overcome her rationality.

"Not tonight. Just for one night, let's allow the locket to fend for itself." Harry responded.

Hermione, who normally would have argued the point, instead put her head back on the table. Maybe her rationality wasn't as resilient as he had thought. He wanted to suggest that the locket be stowed in Hermione's moleskin pouch, but didn't want to be imposing; instead, he threw it on the ground and kicked it underneath Ron's empty bed, as if being rough with it would kill the bit of Voldemort living inside. He then took a seat next to Hermione, putting his arm around her once again and drawing her closer to him. It was a more intimate gesture than they had ever shared, but to Harry it felt surprisingly natural.

Words were unnecessary. Anything spoken would just dance around Ron's absence and accomplish nothing. Harry was content to hold the crying Hermione and derive comfort from the human contact. It reminded him a bit of his short relationship with Ginny, but only slightly; his time with Ginny had been joyous, and their closeness had not been necessitated by anguish. Nevertheless, with Hermione this near, he could almost forget the dead-end path they were traveling and the seeming futility of their pursuit of Dumbledore's goals.

"Forget," he murmured out loud after several minutes of silence.

"It's hard," Hermione responded softly. "It's so hard."

Harry rested his head on her mane of bushy hair. "It's easier with you around, though." He paused, gathering his words. "Sometimes I look at you and think, I think to myself that we might actually be able to do this. If we stay together."

Hermione sat up and looked at him, tears still in her eyes. Harry blanched internally as he realized that the subject of Ron had just been narrowly avoided. However, that did not seem to be what was on Hermione's mind.

"You're really strong, Harry."

Harry didn't think so, not really. He constantly folded under the pressure of Voldemort's probing mind, he was wandless, and he lacked the force of personality to convince Ron to stay with them. Despite the wizarding-world's reliance on him to deliver them from the darkness, Harry doubted his own ability to do so.

"Thanks, Hermione. You're great too," he said. "I'm going to bed."

Hermione looked a little sad, and started to say something, but eventually nodded. Harry went to the bathroom and quickly changed into his pajamas. When he emerged, Hermione had put out the lights and was lying, fully clothed, on her own bunk across the aisle. She must have been unable to face the prospect of guarding the tent. Harry wanted to say something comforting, but the words wouldn't materialize, so he simply crawled into his bed and turned to face the wall. The bunk above his own was achingly empty, but when he faced this direction, he could ignore the fact that Ron's shadows, and the freckly arm that draped off the too-small bed, were absent.

Sleep came quickly, but the usual nightmares tormented him. Dreams of Ron storming out and taking Hermione with him. Of Dumbledore looking on sadly as Harry was felled by Voldemort's Avada Kedavra. Of Ginny tortured for information on his whereabouts. On this last dream, he woke up with a start, only to recognize it as a dream and fall back on the pillow. He looked at his watch; 11:30. He had slept for less than two hours. He shifted around in his sweaty sheets, wishing he had a wand to make things more comfortable, when he heard Hermione's soft crying, barely audible over his commotion.

Harry was still wary of the crying, but he knew that Hermione again needed his comfort. He would not pretend to be ignorant.

Getting up without the usual quietness he practiced during middle-of-the-night excursions, Harry walked over to where Hermione lay. The light was weak but he could see enough to find her shoulder, which he put his hand on. "Hermione," he started softly, unsure how to continue. After receiving no response other than a sniffle, he continued, "Move over."

Hermione obliged, and Harry laid himself on top of the blankets, putting one arm around her. "You can keep crying, you know, if you want. Don't keep it in," he whispered. Fifteen minutes passed before Hermione cried herself out, many of the tears ending up in Harry's pajama top. Thinking she was okay, he began to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, but was halted by Hermione's hand grabbing for his wrist.

"Please stay..."

The meekness in Hermione's voice bothered him, so he obliged. His presence must have been of some comfort, because she was asleep in minutes, curled up against him. Once he was certain that she was asleep for good, he got up gently and returned to his own bed. But it now seemed empty, and he didn't get much sleep.

The next day was drear. They packed up the tent quietly, the ceaseless drizzle dampening any possible conversation. Hermione lifted the protective enchantments and they apparated to a spot which closely resembled the previous one; wooded, muddy, and gray. It was drizzling here too. Harry wanted to ask whether it was possible to stay somewhere sunny, but also didn't want to push any of Hermione's buttons, so he kept silent. The tent was reerected while Hermione redid the charms. And then all there was to do was sit in the tent and mull things over, keeping watch on the arboreal stillness from which nothing was likely to emerge. Harry considered offering to undertake guard duty, but Hermione made no mention of either of them protecting the tent. The locket was similarly forgotten, and Harry hoped it would stay that way. He didn't need that wretched thing to make his misery complete.

For most of the day, Hermione seemed composed. She was even smiling a bit as they ate a better supper than usual, bologna sandwiches accompanied by cans of soda. But Harry was awoken once again in the middle of the night, this time by Hermione shaking _his_ shoulder.

"Huh? What?" Harry mumbled groggily, squinting at the tenebrous form above him. Hermione said nothing but nudged him rather forcefully to the side. He got the idea and shifted over far enough to make room for her. An unnecessary effort; Hermione enlarged the bed with a simple flick of her wand.

Slipping under the covers, now she whispered, "Sorry - couldn't sleep." Harry squinted at his watch and was startled at the time: 2:30. He himself had not been sleeping at all well, but Hermione was practically an insomniac at this stage.

"That's fine," Harry whispered in response. Having never shared a bed with anybody in his life before last night, it was nice to have somebody there. Comforting. Like you weren't as alone. It was definitely fine, but a part of him was saying that it wasn't a good idea for him to be sharing a bed with a _girl_. Not that he had those thoughts about Hermione - often - but it still seemed against social decorum. But he couldn't just ask her to leave.

Especially since she seemed to already be asleep, curled facing away from him. He sighed and turned the other way, dropping into sleep within minutes.

When he awoke, several hours later, the first thing he realized was that his sleep had been totally undisturbed - a rare occurrence. He found he couldn't remember any of his dreams, either; another oddity, since vivid nightmares were just another facet of his life now.

All introspection aside, he also had some very _physical_ problems to cope with. Morning erections were nothing new, but facing this issue while in bed with someone else, while this "someone else" had her arm draped over him, was uncharted territory. He didn't want to disturb Hermione, who was probably - like him- sleeping peacefully for the first time in days, so he stayed put and hoped that his excitement would die down.

He must have fallen back asleep, because he awoke to the smells of Hermione cooking eggs for breakfast. He fumbled for his glasses, slipped them on, and walked the short walk to the table before plopping down. Hermione set a plate in front of him and sat across from him. She was uncharacteristically quiet and seemed a little embarrassed. Harry dug eagerly into the scrambled eggs, which, while flavorless, were much better than anything the Dursleys had ever given him. A few minutes passed.

"Sleep well?" Hermione finally asked.

Harry swallowed his bite of food. "Yeah. I did, actually. Odd, considering I haven't had a good night of sleep in a few years."

"That's really good, Harry. The fewer opportunities Voldemort has to reach you, the better."

Voldemort's continuously simmering anger, which had been causing prickles in his scar for years, was more and more often exploding into all-out rage, no doubt thanks to Harry's constant evasion of those looking for him. Harry didn't know how many of his nightmares were caused by those bursts of anger, or how much Voldemort sensed it when their brains connected, but he DID know that he had never mastered occlumency, and so, was vulnerable while sleeping. Whether the nightmares generated by his own mind added to that vulnerability, he also did not know.

But he did know that he liked feeling rested and alert in the morning.

"I've been trying to practice occlumency, but with everything going on, it's so difficult to clear my head. I don't know what happened this time, but I didn't have any nightmares at all."

Hermione smiled. "Maybe all your practice is paying off. Anyway, we should probably get going."

They packed up the tent under an unreasonably blue sky. Harry still had no ideas as to where to go next, so Hermione apparated them to another forest. This latest sea of trees was almost _too_ sun-dappled, and helped lift his spirits to the point where he could almost feel as if he were a normal teenager, on a camping expedition with a friend. He spent the day scrounging for edibles near the campsite, armed with a charmed list that Hermione had given him depicting what was safe to eat. He came back as the sun started to get low in the sky, his pockets filled with blackberries that were rapidly turning to jam. Hermione was poring intently at _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ when he walked in and deposited his findings on the table. Hermione looked up, eyes bright.

"Blackberries! Those will be great for dessert."

"Fruit for dessert?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, next time you see an ice cream stand you can point it out," Hermione laughed. Harry laughed along with her. It felt good to laugh.

Dinner that night was an enjoyable affair and Harry went to bed feeling vaguely hopeful, as if his good spirits might enable him to defeat Voldemort. He dropped off to sleep quickly. But the nightmares returned with just as much vigor as before. His friends at Hogwarts, being tortured mercilessly for information they didn't have. Lupin telling the Order that "the useless Potter boy should be presumed dead" as Ron smirked. His parents being killed over and over again. It was all a confused jumble, fading in and out from one scene to another. He woke up several times in the night, completely disoriented and sheened in sweat, before lapsing back into more terrible dreams. He did not awaken when Hermione, kept up by his mumbling, silently traversed the space between their beds and held him until he was quiet.

With the rising sun came renewed morosity. Harry vented his frustrations at breakfast.

"I thought I was maybe getting a_ little_ better at occlumency, but I keep having these nightmares! I wish we had the ingredients to make a sleeping potion."

"Even if we did, it would take a week to brew," Hermione responded. When there was no response, she continued, "You really deserve better than this, Harry. I wish I had a solution, but I'm not a psychologist."

Harry had some ideas about his situation. Nightmares had always been a factor in his life, but they had been viciously intense over the past few weeks. And it seemed like sharing a bed with Hermione really helped. That was something he was reluctant to bring up. He was sure that Hermione would rather not play the mother role and cuddle him to sleep every night.

On the other hand, the nightmares might be damaging his chances at eliminating Lord Voldemort. He really had no idea what Voldemort was experiencing when Harry's mind was so volatile.

He should really bring it up. Hermione would understand. And the worst she could do was run away, right?

"Uh. I've been thinking about it, um, a fair bit, and I've noticed that-" He stopped. Hermione was staring at him very intently.

She dropped her eyes. "Sorry. Keep going."

Harry took a deep breath and stared at his plate of berries. "I sleep better when...you're around, to be honest. At least, that's what it seems like," he said quickly. He braced himself for tears, or at least doubtful words. But when he looked back at Hermione, she was simply nodding.

"I noticed that too, but I didn't want to say anything that would upset you. It's probably just the comfort of knowing that you have a friend close by."

Harry nodded in agreement. She wasn't calling him a pervert as he had feared she would. "So. Are you okay with that? I mean, sleeping in the same bed? Because I'm sure we can figure out something else."

"I'm fine with it if you are, Harry. This is far too important an issue to be sheepish about it."

The day passed uneventfully. Harry cleaned up the tent a bit for lack of anything else to do. His mind was preoccupied with what was coming that night. He wanted to sleep peacefully, but he also knew that his hormones could get the best of him at any moment. It was imperative that he not cause Hermione to leave him; not only would there be much less brain power around, but his security spells were so weak that he was bound to be caught within days (if not hours) of Hermione's departure. And that was generously assuming that Hermione would be kind enough to leave her wand for him.

When it came time to get into bed, Harry put on his pajamas quickly while Hermione showered. He was currently in possession of the communal wand, so he tried a few enlargement charms with no luck. The bed had already been expanded and he wondered if there was a physical limit to how far things could be enlarged. Knowing it was fruitless to try more spells without Hermione's guidance, he propped himself up on a pillow and reread one of his old spellbooks.

When Hermione came out of the shower, damp hair tied back and dressed for bed, Harry asked, "is there any way to make this bed any bigger?" Hermione took the wand and tried the same spells he had, with similar amounts of success. She didn't seem surprised.

"Thanks to the nook this bed is in, we're not going to be able to stretch it out any more. And I don't want to mess up the charms on the tent by trying to rearrange the walls. This will have to do."

"It's fine. I don't mind cozy," Harry responded, scooting over to make room and discarding his book on the floor. Hermione climbed in next to him. She smelled nice.

"Don't squeeze yourself up so much against the wall. I have enough space." Hermione said with a little giggle. She turned off the lights with a flick of her wand. "Good night."

"G'night," Harry echoed, turning to face the wall. He closed his eyes, eager for some restful sleep. But fifteen minutes later, he was no closer to sleep than he was at the beginning. His nerves were on edge from the presence of a girl, and his brain would do nothing but play over the possible ways this could go wrong. Was this really better than nightmares? Or sleepless nights wondering if anybody out there is still fighting for your cause? In any case, he was going to be tired in the morning...

_Hermione was kissing him. They were still in the tent, still on the hunt, but Voldemort was nothing more than a subdued afterthought in the very back of his brain. The feeling of her lips on his, her body on his, the _touching_, it crowded out every thought, contracting his world until it was wholly tactile. It was all he could do to lie there and receive all the input his overworked nerves were giving him. She was moving her hands down his body, rubbing his erect cock over his clothes. The kiss broke and she looked at him with sultry eyes before starting to unzip his pants, releasing his member, which was ready to burst from arousal..._

_..._Harry woke up at that moment and immediately felt a twinge of regret that the dream had not reached its expected conclusion. The regret was discarded in favor of horror when he found that the bulge in his pajamas was pressed firmly against Hermione's rear. He stayed put; he didn't want to awaken her with any sudden movements. He would just back away slowly and turn around and go back to sleep.

But he was on the edge of orgasm, his cock quivering and rigid, and through his bottoms and her nightie he could almost feel her soft flesh. Before he could tell himself not to, he pressed himself once, twice against her and came in an explosion. It took all his effort not to cry out from the force of his climax. As his dick twitched to completion, he could feel the wetness of his come soaking through his underwear and pajamas. Now a different form of regret washed through him. He had just taken advantage of a sleeping girl, who also happened to be his best friend and (maybe) lone supporter. He quickly tuned in to her breathing; it seemed to be steady, indicating that she was still asleep. Now he carefully edged himself away, back to his side of the bed.

Shame prevented him from sleeping again right away. His mind was too active. Every time he thought that he might be calming himself down enough to return to sleep, he would remember what had just happened. He wanted to get up, but attempting to climb over Hermione would certainly wake her up, and then she would question him. In the end, even the agonizing of his mind wasn't enough to overcome his body's biological requirements, and he slept.

The following morning, Harry did his best to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. It was sickeningly easy. Too much experience with hiding away his emotions made it so. He even managed to convince Hermione that he had gotten a full night of sleep.

That day Hermione wanted to go a library at Oxford University. She didn't clearly state what she wanted to look up, but Harry supposed that anything was better than lolling around the tent.

With their previous experience in stealth and disguise from their break-in at the Ministry, they were able to fashion themselves as normal university students with little trouble. While Hermione paged through old-looking tomes in one of the reading rooms, Harry waited patiently and tried not to think too much. It was easier since Hermione was now blond and pudgy and not really Hermione anymore.

The quietness and stuffiness of the library was making him sleepy. It was very hard to keep his eyes open. Hermione seemed extremely focused, and it couldn't hurt to take a quick nap...

Hermione was shaking him awake while simultaneously throwing the cloak over them. She whispered urgently, "The polyjuice is wearing off! I completely lost track of time, we have to get out of here!" Trying to shake off his post-nap disorientation , Harry braced himself quickly for apparation as Hermione spun in place.

They landed with a thump, both of them losing their balance. Hermione was sprawled out on top of him, which was a position Harry did not want to be in; he roughly scrambled to get out from under her.

"Let's hurry up. It's freezing out here," Harry said by way of an excuse. It was true; they were on a hill covered with only hardy-looking grass and some small scrub bushes. The terrain around them was quite rocky and the wind was blowing hard despite the sea being a barely visible blue line on the horizon.

There were no signs of human habitation; Hermione confirmed this by saying, "Looks like Shetland to me. There's probably not anybody within ten kilometers. We should have enough food to last for a day or two, but we can't stay here long."

Harry was a little annoyed that they were going to have to deal with small portions again after a few weeks of relatively good eating, but didn't let on. Hermione got the tent out and he went to work setting it up. The wind made this a difficult task, and by the time the tent was properly erected, Harry was quite properly annoyed. Sitting inside the tent with cups of plain hot water in their hands, Harry said, "For all that excitement, I hope you figured out something from those books." He had meant to make a small joke, but it came out sarcastic instead.

"I think you of all people would be grateful for any attempt, however feeble, at getting as closer to finding those Horcruxes," Hermione responded hotly. "Maybe we both could have just taken naps in the tent and you would have been spared all the _excitement_. We can just wait for a friendly Death Eater to stop by and give us directions to all the ones we can't find. _You_ certainly don't appear to have any ideas in that regard." To punctuate her point, she violently slammed her cup on the table and stormed off to the bathroom before he had a chance to react.

Guilt for not being a competent leader resurfaced in him, mingling with the multitude of other things he had to be guilty for. It was getting late and struggling with the tent had worn him out, so he quickly scarfed a piece of stale bread and got into bed, his mind racing. In the morning he would tell Hermione how grateful he really was for her help. He would start being more proactive. They would defeat Voldemort together. With those thoughts easing him somewhat, he slept.

There was a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Processing the input slowly due to grogginess, he realized that Hermione must not be too mad at him if she wasn't sending canaries at him. He turned around to face her, but couldn't see any more than outlines. "What's up?"

The response wasn't immediate. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I was just feeling so frustrated because I had gotten my hopes up that we might be able to deduce some things from those books," Hermione whispered.

"I should apologize too," Harry whispered back. "You've always been there for me and I - I don't let you know how much I appreciate that. I do appreciate it. A lot."

"It's not as much of an ordeal as you make it out to be. You're extremely tolerable most of the time." Harry could hear the smile in her voice. He also was acutely aware of how close the two of them were to each other. Recalling the previous nights misadventures, his cock began to swell in spite of himself.

"Um - you are too. Tolerable. More than tolerable, to be honest."

Hermione laughed lightly. "Harry Potter, always the charmer."

"I'm serious. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you around." Harry put his arm around her, somewhat awkwardly due to their position.

There was a pause. Just as Harry was thinking that Hermione had fallen asleep, she spoke up again. "Have you ever...done anything with a girl?" The curiosity shone through in her voice. The question caught him off guard; it was very uncharacteristic for Hermione to talk about such things. But he supposed that he could humor her; anything to stay in her good graces.

In truth, Harry hadn't ever gotten very far with Ginny. He had wanted to, but had known that getting too intimate would make their inevitable separation even more difficult to bear. "Just snogging. And, uh, I once felt Ginny up through her shirt, but only for a bit." Saying that last part out loud made him turn red, as it seemed very inappropriate to talk about breasts around the bookish (and breast-possessing) Hermione, but with the lights still out, there was no way for her to detect his embarrassment. "What about you?"

Hermione giggled. "Nothing with a girl. Viktor kissed me after the ball, but I didn't really like him like _that_, so it only happened once. Nothing since then."

It occurred to Harry that Hermione had probably had to endure several of these gossip sessions while sharing a room with Parvati and Lavender. Harry himself had never had this sort of discussion with _anybody_. He wondered if Hermione was feeling inadequate, or not attractive, or something. Her former dorm-mates undoubtedly had more experience in the boys field than Hermione did.

Harry didn't know how to continue the conversation at that point; there was no way of knowing whether any of the questions now burning in his mind would offend or annoy Hermione, so he went back to silence. However, Hermione was not done. "So, you've never seen a girl starkers?"

This question prompted Harry's cock to stand at full attention. With his arm still around her, he was in real danger of his condition being detected. "Er - no," he responded, the horny half of his brain hoping that Hermione was hinting at something. "I would certainly like to at some point."

"Not even in a picture?"

He _had_ partaken of the porn saved on Dudley's computer, and said so to Hermione. He was very surprised when she responded, "That's the extent of my experience, too." There came another titter.

Harry pointed out, "You know, this might be the third time in my life that I've heard you giggle."

"It's such fun talking about this stuff, don't you think?"

Oddly, it was. It was something other than Voldemort and war and their hopeless situation. And a whole facet of Hermione's personality that he had only begun to contemplate was now being revealed to him. Perhaps other parts of Hermione would be revealed as well. His dick jumped at the idea, but he knew that he could never ask Hermione to do something like that.

"Yeah."

There was another, longer, intermission in the talking. Harry once again wondered if Hermione was asleep or just gathering the courage for another question.

It turned out to be the latter. "This may be a rather personal question," Hermione started. Her hesitation was almost audible. "Do you...masturbate?"

Harry was floored. He must have taken too long to answer, because Hermione started apologizing: "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it was quite tactless-"

"No, it's okay," Harry said, heart pounding. "You shouldn't need to apologize for being curious. To answer your question, yes, I do, and I can't imagine that there's a bloke in the world who doesn't." He stopped there. The obvious question that he yearned to ask was off-limits.

"I do too," Hermione said simply, answering that question.

Harry couldn't help himself. Removing his arm from Hermione's side, he stroked himself, once, through his pajama bottoms. The built-up need to be touched went away, but he was still desperately hard. The movement had almost certainly been noticed by Hermione, but in some sense, he wanted her to know what he was doing. He was breathing hard, not thinking straight, and was it just him or was Hermione's breathing a little more labored as well?

_"Lumos_."

The light from the wand seemed blinding after looking at nothing but darkness. Hermione placed the glowing wand between their pillows, clearly illuminating her flushed face. Their blanket covered his immodesty for now, but she wasn't looking down there; she was looking directly at him. And, quite obviously, she was touching herself.

It took a not insignificant force of will to prevent from exploding right then. And he couldn't even see anything; just obvious hand movement around the area where her crotch would be. Managing to force the words "can't see" out of his suddenly dry mouth, he lifted up the sheet and threw it down to the end of the bed.

He still could see frustratingly little; Hermione was merely rubbing herself over her nightie. He glanced up to her face and saw that her eyes were focused intently on the bulge in his pajamas.

"Do you want to see?" he asked, trying to sound sure of himself.

This question seemed to startle Hermione out of her reverie, and she turned red as she contemplated it. "Yes. If you don't mind."

Wordlessly, Harry pulled down his pajama bottoms and boxers, allowing his dick to spring out, scant centimeters from Hermione's body. He heard a small intake of breath from her. A small flit of pride passed through him; he had never thought of his body as being able to elicit such a reaction from somebody.

"It's very nice," Hermione said as he throbbed and twitched helplessly. "Textbooks really don't do the human penis justice." Harry would have been amused at Hermione's book-fixated nature had he not been so turned on. He automatically grabbed himself and gave a quick jerk, but it did little to relieve the feeling that he was the hardest that he had ever been in his life. And Hermione was still fully clothed.

Not for long. Without prompting, Hermione shimmied out of her nightie, which she threw onto the floor. Harry could do nothing but stare.

"Sorry they're not more...sexy," Hermione apologized, referring to her mismatched undergarments, which consisted of a substantial white bra and pastel pink panties.

"Don't be silly. This is the sexiest thing I've ever seen," Harry responded, completely truthfully. He had never seen a girl's knickers, unless one counted the occasion in third year when Lavender Brown had been doing cartwheels on the Hogwarts lawn. This was much better than that.

Hermione smiled. "Thanks. I suppose I should continue." With that, she sat up and reached her hands behind her back, undoing the clasp of her bra. Transfixed, Harry watched as she slowly let it fall down her arms, displaying her breasts to him. The newly-removed article was discarded on the floor as she lay face-up on the bed.

Feeling like he should say something, he managed only to make some incoherent noises. Hermione didn't seem too bothered; she was eying his cock, which was clearly communicating its approval of her figure. Harry badly wanted to touch but that felt like a barrier which should not be breached, so he contented himself by looking, looking, and looking some more. Hermione's tits were great; quite less than a handful, but capped with puffily pink, three-centimeter-wide areolae, one of which was now being played with by her fingers.

The ultimate prize was still hidden, however. Harry's eyes alternated between chest and crotch, only rarely deviating to look at Hermione's face. Within a minute, Hermione asked, "Do you want me to take these off?"

Harry marveled at how she could both string together a full sentence _and_ keep her voice from shaking (much). In response to her question, he could only muster a nod and a feeble "yeah", a response that did not adequately convey his enthusiasm for her suggestion.

With no fanfare, Hermione slid her panties down her legs. From Harry's vantage point at the head of the bed, he could see nothing but a brown tangle of hair closely resembling the one on her head. Appearing to notice this, Hermione once again sat up, putting her back against the headboard of their bed, nearly hitting her head on the empty bunk above them in the process. Taking the hint, Harry got up and, dick bouncing comically as he scooted, sat at the other end in order to get the best view possible.

And the view _was_ good. Hermione was sitting with her legs wantonly spread, a pose which was very un-Hermione-like. Her face reddened as Harry drank in the sight. To give her a better view of himself, he sat cross-legged, removing his bottoms in the process. He did this carefully; he was afraid that if anything even brushed against his dick, he would be finished.

Studying the intricacies of her pussy, the hot pit of excitement in his stomach only grew heavier. The folds of skin weren't attractive in any sense of the word, but their forbidden allure made them the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He could wait no longer. The sensation of his hand sliding up and down his shaft was immensely relieving. Precum was dripping down the tip, but his hand moved smoothly even without lubrication, such was the extent of his hardness. After fifteen seconds of this, he had to stop and slow down.

Hermione had been watching his actions intently. "You do it rather differently from what I imagined," she said after he stopped. "I always pictured it as more of a pulling motion."

Harry was amused by her clinical analysis of his masturbation technique. He had never thought about how he did it, he just did it. "Yeah...it's more like, uh, just a stroking motion."

"Do you ever fondle your scrotum?"

With all these questions, he wondered whether Hermione was aroused at all or just treating him as a science lesson. It was too dark to observe her body language very clearly. "Well, sometimes, just before I - just before I come".

"I suppose you want to see how I do it."

Harry nodded. He had some ideas about "jilling off", but they were probably exaggerated for fantasy value.

Hermione dropped a hand down to her pussy. The moment her fingers came into contact with skin, she sighed, putting to rest any question of her arousal. Harry was entranced as she rubbed her outer lips, enthralled as she played with her clit, and by the time she inserted a finger into herself, he was back to wanking himself off. This seemed to encourage Hermione, who started going at herself more vigorously, as well as using her free hand to play with her breasts.

A minute of watching this and he was already back at the edge. He stopped. "Hermione, I'm not going to last much longer."

"I'm close too. I usually like to draw out the process somewhat, but this is too hot."

Hearing Hermione use the word "hot" in reference to something other than the weather was jarring. But it was also gratifying, since she viewed the act of his masturbation, which was totally commonplace to him, as an erotic spectacle.

She continued (while still thrusting a finger into her entrance and panting), "Just keep going. I'll try to finish at the same time you do."

Harry figured that would not be long. He grabbed his dick and jerked it deliberately. With his other hand, he grabbed his balls and rolled them between his fingers. In no time at all, he was engorged and dark burgundy in color, and he could feel the pressure building up. This time he wasn't stopping. "I'm gonna come."

Hermione visibly picked up the pace, rubbing around her clit and exhaling heavily. Drinking in this intoxicating sight, Harry pumped a few more times before letting loose the largest load he had ever produced. For some reason he always counted his spurts; the count this time was much greater than the three and a half spurts he averaged. This was perhaps due to the fact that Hermione came loudly and violently right as the first shot of cum came streaming towards her.

After the spectacle was over, Hermione reverted back to her usual self, re-dressing and using several arcane charms to clean the sheets. Harry hopped off the bed to put his bedclothes back on as well, and after that task was accomplished, fell exhausted back into the bed. The night's events had worn him out utterly.

He was just drifting off when Hermione interrupted his sleep for the second time. "Thanks for that, Harry" she said.

"No problem at all."

"I think," Hermione started. "I think that if we can just stay together, Voldemort doesn't stand a chance."

The comment was so heartfelt that Harry couldn't articulate a response right away. To compensate, he took hold of Hermione's hand, an action which was much more natural than it would have been an hour ago. This seemed to be enough for her, because she fell asleep soon after.

Harry mulled it over. Their chances against Voldemort still seemed quite remote.

But at least he would have somebody by his side.

* * *

><p>More Fun Author's Notes:<p>

Sorry if anything seemed out-of-(character/place/whack). I'm not writing as much as I once did, as the obstacles of real life have been conspiring against me recently. ;)

Please let me know what you think!


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